


The Kink Diaries

by QueenOfBelmair



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: #ethan's pretty princess ass, A quick sloppy hand job anyway, Aftercare, Anal Sex, Bad Puns, Ball Gag, Banter, Belts, Blindfolds, Boot Worship, Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, Corsetry, Costume Kink, CrankGameplays - Freeform, Cute, Dacryphilia, Dorks in Love, Drabble, Face Slapping, Feeding, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Games, Gay, Groping, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, Kink, Kink Exploration, Leather, Light Bondage, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Mark's puns deserve their own tag at this point, Markiplier - Freeform, Master/Slave, Mummification, Name-Calling, Non-Consensual Groping, One Shot Collection, Panties, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rewrite, Septiplier - Freeform, Sex Toys, Spanking, Tears, Vet Wrap, Wax Play, Writing, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body, crankiplier - Freeform, cross dressing, jacksepticeye - Freeform, septicrank, writing kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:34:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfBelmair/pseuds/QueenOfBelmair
Summary: Everybody in this world, no matter how innocent they claim to be, has something that gets them off.A series of one shots, each with a different kink.Tags will updated as more chapters are added.





	1. Gag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously started on LJ under the username darkbluerain. See note at the end please.

"Fuck yeah!"

Jack cringed once more while washing the dishes, nearly dropping his favorite plate. Granted this wouldn't have done much damage, considering it was plastic and emblazoned with the image of Mayor McCheese. Having lived under the same roof as Mark for the last month, you would think he would become used to the shouting while Mark watched sports. It was so fucking cliché but _goddamn_ Jack just could not get into a bunch of overpaid juice heads kicking balls or ramming into each other. It was even more heavy handed considering his picture might as well have been printed beside the word “deafening” in the dictionary. But Jack was kind of fucking tired and his hands were pruny and he just did not want to deal with it. He grabbed a hand towel and began drying his hands, scowling slightly at the rough feeling. Weren’t the more expensive towels supposed to feel like fluffy clouds or angel tits or something?

"Hey, Mark? Do you have some lotion or something?"

" _Tits_ , they almost had him! Yeah, in the nightstand, second drawer."

Jack tossed aside the offending dish towel and wandered upstairs. Despite being a house occupied by two rather shouty fellows, it was a rather tranquil environment. Deep down in his little Irish heart, Jack would always love the countryside. There was no denying the urban beauty of the American city though. He’d been many places in his life, but American cities were a unique experience.

When Jack finally entered the bedroom and walked over to the aforementioned nightstand, he grumbled in frustration. There are sets of drawers on both sides, and Mark has failed to mention which side the lotion is in. Really, Jack does not feel like digging through handfuls of dirty magazines, batteries, matchboxes, and lord knows what else just to find a bottle of lotion.

As he went to itch the back of his neck, the dry skin of his hand caught on the fabric of his shirt and tore off a piece. Fuck it. He went with the top right drawer, hoping not to find anything sticky or dick shaped in there as he opened it.

What Jack did find when he opened it made him quickly shut it again, probably loud enough for Mark to hear him.

Curiosity gets the better of him, because, really, is _that_ what he saw? Jack opened the drawer again slowly, peeking in like he was staring at some sort of holy relic rather than a sex toy. And yes, he did see _that_.

A bright purple, very poorly hidden ball gag.

His mouth went kind of dry and his hands shook a bit and holy fuck they have one in the house, they really do. Jack picked it up gently, holding it by a strap with the very tips of his fingers. As if he was holding up the evidence to a crime rather than a brightly colored sex toy. It’s clearly been used; there are indents of teeth in the rubber.

Jack's eyes went a bit wide with the realization that some of the nights where he's had to turn the volume up on the tv just a bit louder to drown out the moans, his roommate might have this wedged between his lips. Were there other kinky toys hidden around the room? Did Mark use a blindfold too, imagining someone holding him captive while he stroked himself? Jack’s jeans became tighter while imagining it.

Without warning the door creaked open, causing Jack to jump and drop his discovery on the floor just as Mark entered the room with a laundry basket. The hand that wasn’t holding the basket remained on the doorknob. Mark quirked an eyebrow, his gaze flicking back and forth between Jack and the ball gag a few times before one corner of his mouth turned up in a slight smile.

"Purple? Glad you found it, I’ve been using the red one."

Mark can hear Jack's groan all the way from down the hall after he closed the door, wicked smile still on his face.

Later that night, with Mark on top of him and the shining purple rubber fastened between his own lips, Jack definitely thought he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one will be partially rewrites and partially new content. It's going to be primarily Jack/Mark, but other characters will pop up from time to time. The length will vary chapter to chapter. Some will be fully fleshed out, but I'm also a sucker for drabbles. I'll update the rating as well once things get more intense.
> 
> I also own that Mayor McCheese plate. It's a shining jewel among stones in my kitchen cabinet.


	2. Costume

Mark wanted to fuck Snow White.  
  
Not her, literally. Considering she's a female, and only fourteen years old, after all.  
  
Like most children, Mark had been raised on Disney movies. And like most of those same people, when he'd hit high school, he wanted to go back and relive his childhood a bit by watching those old movies. He also hit puberty.  
  
He could remember being a child, swinging off his mother's arm in a video store and pointing at the  _Snow White_ VHS, begging and saying he wanted to watch "the pretty one." His brother and friends had poked fun, asking why he didn't pick something cooler like Transformers or something with dinosaurs in it. But he was content, sitting in his room and singing along while the others wrestled each other in the sand box.  
  
Ten years passed, and he was standing in that same video store, this time grabbing the DVD of the movie he begged for so long ago.  
  
At age fifteen, Mark Edward Fischbach got a boner while watching a Disney film.  
  
It had been obvious to him for as long as he could remember that he liked boys. Girls had attempted to give him kisses on playgrounds, during detentions, in the backseats of cars. And each time he turned them down, preferring to kiss their boyfriends.  
  
As he sat there, hand down his pants and gentle moans spilling from his lips, he studied the screen to figure out just what exactly about the original Disney princess was turning him on so much. She had adorable doe eyes; all the guys Mark kissed had eyes like that. A voice full of innocent wonder. Mostly, Mark figured it was the dress. Dark blue and pale yellow were always two of his favorite colors, and putting them together on a silk dress made pleasant shivers run up his spine. He'd once made out with a boy wearing a silk shirt at a Halloween party. The feeling of it against his skin drove him wild.  
  
From that point on, Mark was determined to achieve this strange fantasy of his. Somehow, he was going to get his perfect Snow White into bed. Most of the men he found on his journey either weren't fond of lady clothes or found the idea of bringing Disney into the bedroom just a bit too strange.  
  
And then he met Ethan Nestor.  
  


  
  
Ethan had been gone for two hours.  
  
He'd left with barely a goodbye, pecking Mark on the lips and rushing out the door, mumbling something about closeout sales and his paycheck. Mark frowned; he'd been stuck home all day, eagerly awaiting his boyfriend's arrival home. He'd been thinking they'd finally break in the new mattress, but as soon as Ethan had gotten home he'd dropped his uniform in the dirty laundry and hurried back out the door.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner, I swear.”  
  
When Ethan’s small frame finally did make his presence known once more he had a plain white plastic bag in hand. Before Mark could even get a word out, Ethan has kicked off his shoes and run into the bedroom, locking the door behind him. Mark sat back down on the couch, getting pissier by the second. Who the fuck does Ethan think he is, ignoring him like that?  
  
Thirty minutes, a cup of coffee, and several word searches later, Mark received a text from Ethan's phone.  
  
_See you in the bedroom in five minutes?_  
;)  
  
Whatever is awaiting him in the bedroom is undoubtedly sexual (and possibly kinky, taking the unmarked bag into consideration) which makes up for the long wait and Ethan's bizarre behavior. He rinsed the coffee mug out and set it on the counter before heading into the bedroom.  
  
When he opened the door, he couldn’t tell what came first; his jaw hitting the floor or him becoming harder than hell.  
  
Ethan was standing in the middle of the room, wearing a short black wig, dressed as Snow White.  
  
Rose red lips blew a playful kiss to him, a red bow rested atop his neatly styled wig, and he's added the faintest hint of blush to his cheeks. Instead of a floor length dress, the skirt portion of Ethan's outfit hit just shy of his knees. And instead of cute little yellow shoes with bows, he's found a pair of yellow thigh highs each finished off with a large, satin bow.  
  
"Like it?"  
  
Mark’s lips moved, but no coherent sounds came out. He silently walked over to Ethan, running his hands over his boyfriend's hips.  
  
"How...but I never told..."  
  
With a feminine swish of his hips Ethan waltzed over to their bedside drawer and took out Mark's journal. Granted, he hadn't written in it since his teenage years, but you just don't go throwing out something like that, you know?  
  
"You think a lot of dirty, slutty things," he tossed it aside, “Are you just going to stand there..."

Ethan pulled Mark close, kissing up his neck and leaving a trail of lipstick marks behind.

"Or are you going to fuck me?"  
  
Ethan had no time to respond before Mark kicked his legs out from underneath him, making him fall back on the bed with a soft _thud_ , and immediately pushed the skirt up to Ethan's hips for a better view.  
  
He’s wearing a matching yellow garter belt and _fuck_ , absolutely no underwear. Mark ran his hands over Ethan's legs, admiring the sudden change from silky smooth to bristly. Body hair didn’t ruin the illusion whatsoever, what with Ethan’s smaller and much more feminine body. With the skirt pushed up, Ethan's erection is in plain view, inches from Mark's face and just calling out to him. Despite their two years together, Mark always had to bite back a giggle when he saw the pubic hair that he someone convinced the younger man to dye to match the uncontrollable blue chaos atop his head.  
  
Mark wasted no time in wrapping his mouth around the tip, swirling his tongue like a pro. Ethan bucked his hips, which Mark then promptly pinned down to the bed with a forceful grip. His free hand went for the costume and curled around the skirt fabric while he began bobbing his head slowly. Velvet, not silk.  
  
It's better, he thinks.  
  
Spindly fingers wound themselves in Mark's hair, tugging his head up roughly and bringing it forward to crash against Ethan's lips.  
  
"I am  _not_  going to cum in your mouth."  
  
Ethan ran one (freshly manicured) nail down Mark's cheek.  
  
"I am going to cum screaming your name while you pound my pretty little princess ass."  
  
Well, a sweet and docile princess he wasn't, but what would be the fun in that?  
  
Mark's hands rushed to the loose shorts he'd been lounging in, pushing them down his hips and hearing them land with a soft flutter on the floor. He hadn't bothered wearing underwear either; convenient sex and convenient bathroom trips made his life easier.  
  
Ethan whined, clearly wanting more attention than he was being given, punctuating the sound with a grinding of his hips against Mark’s. Mark smiled and wiggled three fingers before guiding them to Ethan's plush lower lip. He watched the blue haired boy suck, cheeks hollowing and eyes become languid while his tongue attempted to soak saliva in every little dip and crack Mark's fingers had to offer.  
  
Then, just as soon as they seemed to be in, they were out. Mark wasted no time in pushing his index finger past Ethan's tight ring of muscles, feeling them already loose.  
  
It was at that moment, accompanied by a high pitched noise from the body underneath him, that Mark realized Ethan had already stretched himself. An image etched itself across his vision of Ethan, all gussied up in this sexy number, sinking down on his long fingers while resting on his knees. Going up, grinding down, but still never getting close enough to reach the spot that Mark could brush with just the right flick of the wrist.  
  
"Mmm ready," Ethan moaned louder, trying to get Mark to focus on reality. Which worked, beyond efficiently. "Mark, please…"  
  
The older man had already been three fingers deep, which was enough for him to easily replace those digits with his cock.  
  
"God damn, Ethan," Mark spat out breathlessly. The fabric of the thigh highs rubbed pleasingly against Mark’s skin as he thrusted. Was this what he was missing out on all those years by not fucking girls in terrible Halloween costumes? No, he decided, it wasn’t the same if there wasn’t a hard cock waiting for him under the skirt. Ethan could tell Mark’s mind was wandering again and he clenched tight, making his boyfriend’s eyes snap wide open and his hips snap forward.

"You're such a slut," Mark choked out, feeling everything go tighttighttight and then back to normal. But normal was nowhere near loose. Ethan grinned, clenching and relaxing several more times. Some boys were just born to bottom. Soon both of them were dripping with sweat, thighs shaking. Neither of them where in any state of being able to last long, not after all of this excitement.  
  
"Mark, please," Ethan thrusted his hips up wildly, dying for something to work him to orgasm.  
  
"Oh, where are my manners? Ladies first." Mark’s voice was weak, but still stronger than Ethan’s. He wrapped one hand around Ethan and twisted his wrist before jerking him smoothly. And as expected, he felt the younger man come undone.  
  
"F-Fuck! Shit fucking goddamn!" Ethan cried out louder, wriggling around to the point that Mark had to refasten a solid grip on those dangerous hip bones and hold him still.  
  
"If you wanted me to fuck you, then let me fuck you, you pretty little bitch."

The strain of his voice and his mounting orgasm made it come out as a growl, making goosebumps arise on Ethan's arms and push his orgasm that much further, his back arched off the bed while his long legs remained taught around Mark's midsection. Ethan’s cock twitched eagerly in Mark’s hand as he finally came, gushing down over the clenched fist and onto the sheets. He couldn’t help himself; he swiped one longer finger through the mess and wiped it across Mark’s lips with a flourish.  
  
Mark came quickly after that. With one last deep pump he buried himself to the hilt and emptied his load into Ethan’s eager ass. Both men were left panting; Mark’s tongue slowly dragged over his cum smeared lips to savor every drop. After pulling out he flopped down on the sweat soaked sheets. Despite them shaking, Ethan’s elegant legs carried him off the bed and into the bathroom. He returned shortly with a towel, wiping Mark’s tanned stomach clean.   
  
"You don't have to do that."  
  
A lipstick smudged grin smiled back at him.  
  
"Please, it's the ladylike thing to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the last few rewrites before the original content kicks in. This little guy is from my days as an LJ slash community owner. Which was almost ten years ago, yikes!


	3. Forced

_C’mon Mark, come home already. It’s your turn to wash dishes._

Office hours were surprisingly inconsistent, it seemed. Summer orders did tend to make things pick up. It was Friday, surely there were enough people on staff to offer Mark enough reprieve to get home before the sun went down? Or at least before dinner went cold. Jobs never did give a shit about whether or not your dumplings are warm, Jack figured, or whether your husband actually wanted to see you for more than five minutes before it was time to head to bed.

Heavy sigh on his lips, Jack cleared the table he had set an hour ago and tucked the food away into Tupperware before heading to the sink with the small handful of dishes. Mark was going to owe him for this, it was the third night in a row where he had to take over dish washing duty. If it weren’t for his part time job, you might as well have slapped an apron on him and called him a housewife.

“You fuckin’ Yankee doodle, your pretty ass better show up soon.”

“Pretty ass is just what I was thinking.”

The threatening cold of a knife was at Jack’s throat before he even realized it. The surprise stole every breath from his body, made the whole world go quiet. He barely even heard the plate slip from his hands and shatter to bits of porcelain shrapnel on the floor at his feet.

When did the door open? How couldn’t he have heard it?

“Seán…”

_My name…my goddamn name…_

“Got a look at your wallet while you were cooking. Don’t worry, didn’t grab anything. I’d much rather take something right from you.”

Jack was still in too much shock to reply. He’d watched plenty of action thrillers and even some shitty Lifetime movies where potential victims managed to pull some sort of ninja shit and wrench the knife out of their almost-killer’s hands. Jack knew he wasn’t that quick. His blood would be on the floor before the dumplings cooled off.

A firm hand grabbing at his zipper awoke at least something in him, and he stepped on the foot of whoever was at his back. They hissed in pain, but retaliated by twisting one of Jack’s arms behind his back and digging the knife in a bit. A few drops of blood gathered on the shining metal, just enough to drip down Jack’s neck. Still the hand persisted, Jack’s zipper down quickly and his pants at his knees.

“You bitch. You deserve every inch I’m going to ram up your tight ass.”

“Please! C’mon, I-I’ve got a safe upstairs, there’s a few hundred in it…”

“If I wanted cash I would have taken it when I snuck in two hours ago. What I want is right here.”

The salt of the tears in his eyes stung, Jack thought. He hadn’t cried since that shitty talking animal movie Mark made him watch. Mark, Mark, Mark. This man’s hands were moving past the waistband of his underwear and cupping his ass cheeks. Only Mark touched him there, had been the only one to touch him there.

“Don’t do this, I’m fuckin’ begging you don’t do this. My husband-…”

“Ohh, I saw the pictures of your husband. Pretty face. I might have to tie you up when I’m done with you and stash you in a closet while I wait for him to get home. He looks fun too.”

That was enough to make his blood run cold. The thought of someone hurting Mark…Jack pushed it out of his mind and managed to dig his nails into the arm of the man. He couldn’t sit completely idly by while his body was used for unspeakable things. Two strikes was enough, though, and the man grabbed a spool of baker’s twine sitting on the counter. Although he let go of Jack’s arm, he used his bulk to keep Jack pinned to the counter while the twine was wrapped tightly around his victim’s wrists. The thin material rubbed Jack’s skin painfully; it would no doubt be raw and bleeding soon. With a sick grin the man placed the blade back at Jack’s throat once he was done securing the smaller man’s arms behind his back. His now free hand unzipped his own pants.

Jack tried his best to lose himself in thoughts of Mark bursting through the back door and saving him. There would be Mark, work clothes askew and eyes determined. He’d curl up a strong fist and punch Jack’s attacker out cold, a real hero.

The door remained shut tight.

“Don’t get too lost in thought, handsome, I want to look right into your eyes when I stick it to you.”

He is lost in thought, though. All he could do was mumble a string of “idontwantthisidontwantthis” as a hand swiped across his face, collecting tears that were then used to lubricate the dick of the man pinning him down. There it was, urgent and eager, pressing against Jack’s hole for only a moment before pushing in.

That snapped him out. A scream ripped out of Jack that would have put any horror movie heroine to shame. The same hand that had smeared tears across his face now covered his mouth. No way to move, no way to scream, no way to fight back.

Jack truly was helpless.

“As much as I would love to hear you scream, if your neighbors try to snoop I’ll have to bleed you dry to shut you up.”

The thrusts came relentlessly. Jack’s hips snapped painfully against the sink; it was like he was being rutted by an animal. An animal that would tear him limb from limb after it had his way with him. Images of himself in pieces on the floor flashed across Jack’s mind. He struggled as much the weight against his body would allow, but every wiggle earned him a harder thrust.

Every breath Jack tried to take was tears and sweat.

The man had abandoned the knife for a handful of Jack’s hair. The grip was forceful, painful, powerful. It spoke volumes; in this moment, I own you.

“If you promise not to scream, I’m gonna make you feel good. Actually, fuck that. I’m gonna make you feel disgusting for loving this.”

Jack honestly couldn’t scream if he wanted to, all his energy was going into keeping his legs from going out from under him. The hand moved from his mouth, down his smooth chest, through the soft curls that his underwear should be hiding, finally settling around his unashamedly hard cock.

The man pumped him roughly, hand more focused on making friction than Jack’s pleasure. But pleasure was exactly what he was feeling. He should be feeling filthy, used, repulsed. He did feel all those things, but he also felt a shiver of pleasure with every single stroke.

The hand was skilled, there was no doubt. It knew every spot, every place to apply pressure. It was maddening. He shouldn’t cum, shouldn’t give in.

It was so tempting. What did it make him, if he let himself go?

“Shit, you’ve got the tightest ass I’ve ever been in. Your husband is one lucky fucker.”

Shame, such lustful, wanton shame Jack felt for getting closer and closer to orgasm. He looked a proper whore, cheeks pink and tongue lolled out like a dog in heat.

It felt good. Goddamnit, it felt good.

A guttural moan and the feeling of teeth sinking into Jack’s shoulder was soon followed by the hot spurt of the attacker’s release inside of him. Should he? Could he?

_yessyessyess nonono fuuuuuuck_

Jack’s mind completely blanked as he coated the hand jerking him in sticky warmth. His whole body was melted marshmallows while his hands were cut free. There might as well be no earth beneath his feet as he began falling to the ground. Strong and loving arms caught him before any damage could be done.

“Sssh, Jack, it’s me, I’ve got you.”

“M…ark?”

There wasn’t a floor anymore, just Mark’s skin on his and then the floor was the bath. Was he naked now? He must be. Where’s the kitchen?

“Hey, babe, can you tell me where you are?”

“H-home. Bathroom.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“William.”

The hands on his body were gentle this time, wiping him clean of all the mess. Through sleepy eyes Jack’s gaze settled on Mark’s warm expression. Mark, who was bathing him with care and making sure to take it easy on the little fabric burns on his wrists.

“Was that good for you? Everything you wanted?”

Jack’s brain was still flying through clouds and dancing with fairies. He did, though, manage to mumble, “Mhmm. Played your part perfectly.”

The wet warmth of the bath became the soft warmth of the bed. Mark’s arms were already open and ready once they’re in bed and Jack was happy to curl up into them. This made it all worth it. Every pang of pain was equal to another minute he’d earned in Mark’s loving embrace.

“I kind of feel bad for doing it on dumpling night. I know how hard you work on them.”

“I’d let a whole table full of dumplings go cold to spend a night in your arms.”

“For shame!”


	4. Slap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first drabble of the collection.

The first time Jack hit Mark, it was an accident. Sort of.

The act of hitting itself was intentionally done, but was regretted as soon as it happened.

Seán William McLoughlin was not a man to lash out in anger. Generally. He and Mark had gone through just about every argument a couple could experience. Fights over the bills, over the other being too drunk, overspending on porn. This fight was a little more personal, however.

“There’s just certain people I don’t want to be open in front of, let it die Jack!”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not! You’re a gay man Mark, you have a gay life, with your gay boyfriend, in your gay goddamn house! Why fucking hide it?”

Between the two of them, Jack was the more…outspoken one. Emphasis on “out.” That aspect of Mark’s life was more of a footnote than the title of the book, so to speak.

“I’m not as comfortable okay? I don’t want to wave a damn rainbow flag every time I meet someone new!”

“I’m your boyfriend and I expect to be introduced to people as such!”

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a goddamn queen sometimes I wouldn’t have to keep it to myself!”

Jack’s palm connected with Mark’s cheek so hard it snapped the older man’s head to the side.

He curled it against his body limply right after.

Fuck.

Neither of them had ever, _ever_ struck the other. Jack’s hand suddenly felt completely disconnected from his body. He’d make pancakes, do laundry, take the dog out for the rest of his natural life…

“Do it again.”

That was unexpected.

“Do…what?”

“Do it. Slap me again!”

There’s not as much force behind it the second time, being that he’s a bit too aware of what he’s actually doing. Mark gritted his teeth nonetheless as the sting in his cheek was refreshed.

“Harder. Like you fuckin’ mean it. Get angry. You’re a goddamn dancing queen, you hit like a pussy-…”

That time Jack makes sure it knocks a gasp of pain out of his boyfriend, even making him stumble back a few steps.

“You’re an asshole.”

_Slap._

“Yeah? Doesn’t stop you from being a fucking whore when I shove my cock up your twinky little ass.”

_Slap._

“Y-you’re getting hard, you stupid…stupid fucking…”

The kiss that cuts Jack off is all heat and teeth and spit.

The second time Jack hit Mark was definitely, one hundred percent on purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in a row, whuuuut. I have a short story I'm supposed to be working on that's due on Tuesday, so I figured I'd give you all a double dose since I probably won't update until Wednesday.
> 
> My girlfriend always says that I pretty much radiate gay when I walk into a room. Drew a little inspiration from that.


	5. Belt

_Six._

The thick leather came down hard across Ethan’s bare ass once again. The sting brought another sharp intake of breath from him as Mark brought his hand back for another blow.

“You still counting? You better be.”

“Y-yeah.”

_Seven. Eight._

Twenty had sounded like such a small number when Mark had pitched it to him. How long could it take? He’d been spanked before; that always seemed like it was over with so quickly. The harsh slap of the belt was nothing compared to the older man’s hand. Mark was letting every lash settle for a few moments before he brought the next one down.

“If you go past twenty, your punishment is going to worse than a belt.”

_Twelve. Thirteen._

Ethan struggled to keep himself from getting too deep into subspace. If he floated too far, he’d be done for.

_Fourteen. Fifteen._

Strands of faded blue were stuck to his forehead and drool was flowing freely from the corner of his mouth. Still he kept himself anchored to reality. There was a slippery feeling now when the belt was drawn across his bottom. They’d never broken the skin before.

“Goddamn. Your ass looks so much like a cherry I just want to take a bite right out of it.”

Mark loved it when he left Ethan a shaking, incoherent mess. The first time he’d made the younger man cry during sex, he’d gotten so painfully hard he barely had time to finish slapping him before Mark came across Ethan’s tear stained face.

_Eighteen. Nineteen._

“Twenty, twenty! Fuck Mark!”

Spankings usually ended with Ethan allowed to hump himself to orgasm on Mark’s leg. When Mark sat him up he felt the stickiness coating his thighs already. There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

He’s floating in clouds, stars in his eyes. Mark knew the routine well enough by now. It was best to let Ethan drift while his aftercare was taking place. A thick quilt was wrapped around his small frame while Mark gently wiped his face with a cold washcloth.

“You’re going to need some medicated cream on those welts, baby.”

“Mmm…’m not cherry.”

“Huh?”

Ethan nuzzled his face into Mark’s neck. “My ass. I’m not a cherry.  Blueberry.”

“Does that mean when I took your virginity I popped your blueberry?”

“Fuck you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wasn't going to make this one a drabble, but I think it turned out so much cuter that way!


	6. Wax

The power had been out for three hours.

Hour one had been spent realizing how unprepared for power outages the two of them were. Candles were found buried in a box in the back of their bedroom closet, and how they ever managed to find a lighter in the mess of their kitchen drawers was beyond them.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“Where the fuck did I leave my phone?”

“Jack, I swear to god…”

In the flickering candlelight, Jack’s green hair reminded Mark of someone trying way too hard to be spooky. It was a sight that couldn’t stop him from letting out a chuckle.

“What? Do you remember where I left it?”

“No. You know what you look like? A Jack-O-Lantern!”

A playful but firm punch to Mark’s side cut off his snickering as they left their bedroom and wandered into the living room, candles in hand. The last time they’d checked the clock it had been one AM, and though they were both too proud to admit it neither of them wanted to sleep in the pitch-black dark. Whoever said getting a house in the suburbs away from the familiar constant light of the city didn’t factor in what big babies the two of them actually were.

“If I could see your foot I’d step on it right now.”

“Pull the dick out of your ass, I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere on the tv stand. Why don’t you take a look, I’m going to see if there’s more candles in the kitchen in case we need more.”

Jack grumbled something that Mark was pretty sure was a phonetic match for, “I wish I had a dick in my ass,” but nonetheless crouched down and felt along the stand while Mark went to find candles.

Was that it?

  
No, CD case. Why was that there?

  
A box of colorful Japanese candy was his next find.

  
Were they really this messy?

As it turned out, odds and ends of all sorts were hidden along the shelf that barely got a notice in the daytime. It couldn’t be here, maybe he left it in the bathroom.

“Hey, we did have more candles in there! Is that really obviously gay of us? They’re scented too, there’s no getting around that.”

In the darkness, Mark didn’t notice the way that Jack’s leg jutted out behind him. He did manage to catch himself before completely face planting on the floor by grabbing onto the wall, but his other hand was flung forward instinctively. There was nothing there to catch anyway, but this hand also happened to be holding the candle he’d been using as a light source. The sudden jerking movement had caused Mark to spill wax along Jack’s exposed back.

“Jesus fuck!”

A drippy streak of cake batter scented wax went from collarbone to shoulder blade, causing Jack to hit his head off the stand he was searching through.

“Fuck, fuck, sorry! Did it hurt?”

Leave it to him to do something like dump a candle on somebody. Jack merely grunted when Mark leaned down beside him and began picking off the already flaking pieces of wax.

“S’alright. Actually…it didn’t feel that bad.”

“Not that bad?”

“Nice, even.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The candle in Mark’s hand was suddenly very heavy. Did he dare?

“I know you’re thinkin’ about it. Go ahead.”

Mark’s hands were much steadier the second time.

Thick globs of wax spattered down across Jack’s back in abstract patterns. Mark swirled his finger through it before it completely dried, dotting some on Jack’s nose.

“I’m pretty sure they make specific candles for this. You’re going to get burns.”

“I don’t fucking care. Here, try it.”

He straightened up and the candle switched from tanned to pale hands. “Here, lay on your back.”

Mark did as instructed because fuck it, why not? They weren’t going to be sleeping anytime soon. Careful consideration was taken before Jack tipped the candle, splashing it across Mark’s nipples and the center of his chest. He waited only a moment before the next tip of the candle made a thin drizzle toward the older man’s navel.

“Shiiiit, shit, that’s hot.”

“Nice though, right?”

“…yeah, nice though.”

A slight buzzing was quickly followed by the lights flickering back on. This not only illuminated the lamp they kept on in the living room, but Jack’s phone sticking out between the couch cushions. Mark grabbed at it, wax crumbling off his chest while he typed.

Jack lazily emptied the rest of the wax down his own chest. “What are you doing?”

“Ordering the right kind of candles.”

He tossed the phone to Jack once he was finished. Blue eyes scanned the order confirmation screen.

“Orange and green?”

“I’m sticking with the Jack-O-Lantern theme.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally didn't intend for this one to be short as well. I'll make up for it with a long chapter as the next installment.


	7. Blindfold

You could practically hear a pin drop in the room. Or, in this case, the dull _thunk_ of a knife hitting a cutting board.

“Is it a vegetable?”

“That’s your second guess and you haven’t even tasted it. You only get two guesses for each one.”

Jack whined impatiently from his spot on the floor. There honestly wasn’t much else he could do in his position anyway. Smooth red ropes looped around his chest, his arms secured behind his back. He didn’t think the fancy criss-cross work in the front was necessary, but Mark had recently become an amateur at shibari and insisted. His ankles had been tied to his thighs in what he was pretty sure was called a frog-tie. It left him feeling hopelessly exposed, even with the protection of his underwear. Mark had topped things off with a blindfold, insisting that Jack was “the biggest peeper he’d ever met” and would definitely cheat at the game otherwise.

Only a few minutes of grumbling went by before Jack felt something cool and slippery pressed against his lips. He opened, sliding it around his mouth for a few moments before crunching down and sticking his tongue out playfully.

“You were actin’ like that one was going to be hard. Cucumber.”

“Don’t get too cocky. You’re only 3-5 with me right now.”

Jack liked to think he was going to do well with two of his senses taken away. The cherries (“the orange ones you’re always buying”) had practically been a handicap to start things off. He’d missed radish, earned himself a harsh slap across the face for it. When he’d started bragging he easily mixed up peppermint and spearmint. That’s when Mark had added the clamp on his right nipple.

The press at his lips was different this time, much less slippery. The feel of it in his mouth was a lot thicker and meatier than he was expecting. It couldn’t be a peach, it wasn’t wet enough. Figs had a lot more of an intense taste. This was more like…a fruit smoothie? Or sherbet.

“I…a mango? No wait…papaya?”

There went the left nipple. Mark’s fingers were still dripping juice while he applied the clamp.

“ _Jesus_ …”

“That was two. It’s a mangosteen.”

“T’fuck is that? You made that up.”

Mark slipped another piece past his lips. “It’s the purple thing, about the size of an apple. I’m still winning.”

Jack straightened up as best as he could and swallowed. There was no way he was going to let Mark get the jump on him with more edibles that sounded like someone’s drag name.

The notion for the way they had chosen to spend their evening had come from an offhanded comment about “picking your dick out of a line up with my eyes closed.” Mark had barked back that Jack probably couldn’t even tell his dick apart from a vegetable. The challenge had been accepted quickly after that. Mark had brought bondage to the table.

The next one was cold and stiff. His first thought from the texture alone made him think it was a certain familiar vegetable.

“Mark, I swear to god if you fed me a fuckin’ potato. That’s nowhere near funny.”

“I’m considering that a guess.”

Jack began chewing; it was starchy, like a less juicy apple. This one tasted familiar. Had he eaten it recently? He bounced excitedly suddenly, despite the ropes otherwise keeping him in place.

“Jicama! That’s jicama.”

Mark cursed and set aside the rough vegetable. He was sure that one was going to work.

Jack smiled to himself while the knife went to work again. There were several times the knife came down rather than just one, and something that sounded like scraping. He could win this, he knew he could. If he did, he got to put Mark in the same position he was currently in. If not…

“You’re thinking about something.”

“Just how slow you are. This is why dinner never gets done on time.”

Mark’s fingers are rougher this time as he shoves the next one in, pinching Jack’s lip accidentally-on-purpose.

“Fucker. Pepper.”

“Red or green?”

“Hair splitting little shit. Green?”

Mark grumbled, tweaking both nipples for good measure. Jack’s cock twitched in its cotton prison.

“Fuck you. Alright, this decides it. Because if it’s a tie, no one wins.”

“Get on with it then so I can cream your ass.”

Mark knew there was a joke in there. He left it be.

Jack opened his mouth eagerly for the last one, which Mark slide in obligingly. He moved it around his mouth a bit, sucking on it and nipping pieces off. It wasn’t exactly meaty. It didn’t remind him of anything extremely fruity either. It was a bit tart though. This was something he didn’t remember ever trying before.

“Is it a pear?”

“Nope!” Mark was practically singing.

“Fuck…this one is hard. Umm….is it that weird one? The smelly one? Durian, I think?”

Judging by the sound of Mark getting up and moving behind him, he had to be wrong. What the hell didn’t taste quite savory or quite sweet? 

Mark’s hand slid down Jack’s chest, toying idly with the ropes before settling on top of the erection straining at the thin fabric. Lazy circles were made over the damp patch the younger man had made by fingers that Jack swore up and down could have a very profitable career in porn. A low groan slipped out of his mouth while Mark continued the pattern as he bit Jack’s ear.

“As much fun as this is, I have a surprise for you.”

The underwear were pushed down just enough, finally freeing his hardness to the cool air of the living room. Thank god Mark didn’t know a damn thing about crotch ropes yet.

The roaming hands left his body, leaving him squirming impatiently for some kind of contact. It was quickly replaced with something cold and slimy being slid over his dick. It was way too long and deep to be a Fleshlight or anything like one. He was much too focused on the sensation of the cold contrasting against his hot, eager erection to give a shit at this point, so long as it felt good.

Mark grinned, sliding the hollowed out cucumber up and down slowly. Jack’s hips bucked eagerly up into it.

“T-the fuck was that last one? You win, you might as well tell me.”

“Jackfruit.”

“Fucking hilarious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puns. I've got them.


	8. Pen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be honest with me if this one isn't up to par with the other chapters. See the end note for the tale of where my ass has been.

It had started off innocently enough. Fifteen-year old Mark was getting someone's phone number for the first time. The boy had gotten out a simple black ink pen to jot it down.  
  
As soon as the tip touched Mark's skin, what felt like an electric shock went straight between his legs.  
  
At first he'd been slightly scared and jerked his hand back, apologized by claiming he thought he saw a bee, and let the boy continue what he'd started.   
  
When Mark got home later that night, he'd overturned the small pencil holder sitting on his desk, scattering pens all across the papers littered there. His eyes had scanned them for a good ten minutes before cautiously picking one up.  
  
After contemplating if this experiment was even worth the time for a few seconds, Mark tossed the cap aside and set the pen to the back of his hand, drawing a simple circle. Unlike earlier with the boy, there was no jolt of electricity, just a pleasant hum beneath his skin. It reminds him of the kind of feeling one got when they knew something sexual was about to happen. He became bolder, scribbling simple nothings. A smiley face, the numbers from zero to nine, his name.  
  
Each time he pressed a bit harder, and each time the feeling got more and more intense until he was so hard he felt like he was going to come right then and there. By the time he'd stuck his hand down his pants and found release, he realized he'd written halfway up his arm.  
  
It took a second, sitting there in his computer chair, hand still shoved down his underwear, legs spread wide as the denim on his legs would allow, until it really hit him.  
  
He got turned on by being written on.  
  
  


  
  
Mark was now twenty-eight years old, fully aware of his kink and damn proud of it. He worked in a book store (with a drawer full of pens all to himself), trying and usually finding people with similar kinks. He'd had a one-night stand with a wild-haired twenty-five year old who liked to read erotica while Mark sucked him off. Before that, a girl who made him re-enact a scene from one of her favorite historical romances.  
  
No matter the kink, they were all like him, and all willing to write on him.  
  
Mark was sitting behind the register, bored as hell because it was fucking snowing outside and nobody really wanted to go book shopping when there was a possibility of crashing into a telephone pole. They'll risk their lives for a new fridge, sure, but the newest issue of a comic book? Hell no.  
  
There were only about two or three people in the store, besides Mark and his co-worker. Mark had been discreetly doodling on the back of his hand for the past half hour, just for the thrill, when he finally decided to walk into the back room and start organizing new releases. If he alphabetized them now, it was less work to do before close. He could get home a littler earlier, maybe try out the new fountain pen waiting for him in his mail box.  
  
He was about twenty minutes into his work, about to open a box full of science fiction novels when a voice behind him startled him so badly he jumped and nearly took an eye out with the box cutter in his hand.  
  
"Umm, excuse me?"  
  
Mark turned and planned on giving his interrupter a nice, harsh glare...  
  
...until he set eyes on the owner of the energetic, bouncy voice that had invaded his space.  
  
Green and brunette hair that looks like it’s spent too long with the windows down was the first thing he noticed. Mark was pretty sure he could span the man's waist with his hands, he's so damn scrawny. To top it all off, the unnamed gentleman was absentmindedly twirling a pen between his fingers. Mark could already feel his arousal building.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
Bouncy Green smiled, a bit shyly, and stepped further into the room.  
  
"Sorry for bargin’ in. There wasn't anyone at the counter, and I saw you back here through the open door. I, umm, I'm looking for a book. It's called  _Innocent Traitor_."  
  
Who did he think he was (good looks aside) just walking back here? The storage room was Mark’s baby, though, and everything was categorized by both genre and author, so the intruder’s request was easy to find.  

"A fan of history, are we?"  
  
"A bit, yeah."  
  
They stood there for a few moments, glancing over one another, before Bouncy Green spoke.  
  
"So, my name's Jack. And I hope this isn't too forward of me, but you're really fuckin’ cute. Can I give you my number?"  


As soon as the words 'give you my number' were out in the air, all Mark could think about was that pen on his skin. It’s a simple ballpoint, but there’s nothing wrong with the classics.  
  
"Y-yeah..."  
  
Jack took Mark's hand in his (looking like correction fluid beside Mark’s sun kissed skin) and began writing his phone number. Mark had already begun biting his lip before the writing began, but once Jack got to the third digit, he can't help but let out a groan.  
  
Jack stopped writing, quirking a bushy eyebrow at Mark before continuing to write, a little more slowly. Mark was digging his fingernails into his palm, trying his hardest not to let another sound escape. He failed miserably.

Mark had been writing on himself since that fateful day in his bedroom, but when another person was wielding the pen, the pleasure increased tenfold. When Jack finally finished the last flourish of the pen, Mark let a tiny moan slip out.  
  
The semi-awkward silence returned. Then, wordlessly, Jack quietly closed the door the rest of the way before pressing Mark up against the wall, lips moving to the base of Mark's throat as he drew a line from Mark's wrist up to the crook of his elbow, causing him to let out another moan, louder this time. Jack's other hand was at his belt, making quick work of it and pushing Mark's pants to the ground.  
  
Jack stepped back, surveying the scene in front of him. Mark was panting, cheeks flushed, the beginnings of a wet spot showing through burgundy boxer briefs. The hand holding the pen reached out, drawing a little 'x' across the front of the underwear and earning another sound of pleasure from Mark's lips.  
  
Mark had never experienced this before. He'd been written on loads of times but never without some other form of touching involved, whether it be groping, kissing, or actual sex. Without his knowledge up until that point, this had somehow dumbed down the experience of being written on. Standing there, pants around his ankles, with someone he's just met doing nothing but _writing_...

The pressure of the pen became harder; Jack was drawing in a lazy neverending circle, smiling as Mark braced his hands against the wall and let out a choked sound that people usually had to pay for to hear.

Jack grinned, drawing his name in neat cursive across Mark's now painfully hard erection. Mark could feel himself getting closer, bringing one hand up to slap across his mouth as Jack tugged down the ink stained underwear and took the fleshy heat into his hand. It didn’t take much. A thumb across Mark's slit, pressing his fingers in the right place, and Mark was coming hard. Streaks of cum landed in awkward patterns across the front covers of the books he’d just unpacked that were at his feet. That was going to be an interesting damage tag to fill out. He stepped out of the scrap of fabric that had previously contained his unmentionables and kicked them away. They landed at Jack’s feet.  
  
The only sounds that were heard for the next minute or so were Mark's panting and Jack wiping the evidence of Mark's orgasm off on his pants. After Jack was satisfied with his half-assed cleanup, he smiled, picking Mark's underwear up off the floor and tucking them into his pocket.  
  
"I think I'll be keeping these."  
  
After he pulled his pants back up and got himself looking presentable again, Jack stepped forward, placing a kiss to the back of the hand with his number on it. Mark took the opportunity to slide the pen out of Jack's pocket, smiling and tucking it into his own.  
  
"And I think I'll be keeping this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooooo shit. This past week and a half or so has just decided to anally ram me with a cheese grater. School, Work, Life, and their distant cousin Illness (who just broke out of juvy) all jumped me in an alleyway and stole my lunch money. Then I got a little visit from Seasonal Allergies and she punched me in the face, just for good measure. There might be a little gap with the next update as well because work is crazy (no more than a week or so) but after that things should be back on track.


	9. Panties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at who isn't dead. An explanation for my absence is in the notes below, my friends.

Dating someone for five years tended to come with certain commitments. Sometimes you gave up the last piece of pizza, sometimes you let them curl up beside you in bed even though you were already sweating.

Sometimes you ended up at Target at eight o’ clock at night looking for a very specific brand of vitamins when you’d rather be at home with your feet up.

Jack had put the oversized bottle of vitamins in his basket not long after he’d arrived in the store. The urge to amble around in search of something his heart was telling him he needed had spread like a virus from the 30-something moms around him. He was currently staring at a set of mugs he definitely didn’t need but holy shit how had he gone nearly thirty years of his life without drinking out of a mug with a puppy’s tail for a handle?

A colorful day-planner, the mug, and a t-shirt emblazoned with a sticker that carried the hefty claim of it being “vintage soft” joined the vitamins in the hand basket. He tended to be attracted to things with patterns, and how could he pass up something with little chubby birds embroidered on the pocket?

On what should have been the journey towards the check-out lanes another fabric pattern caught his attentive eyes. Rather than a t-shirt, this fabric belonged to a pair of bright blue panties, the ass made to look like the face of a smiling kitten. It was nestled amongst a bin full of its peers, in a display featuring even more colorful patterned panties.

Jack was no prude. Two nights ago Mark had been practically wrist deep in his ass while the other hand tugged on a leather collar around his neck. Female clothes were a new concept to them, though. His feet made the decision for him and walked over to the beckoning bins. His fingers ran across the see-through fabric, imagining what his pale skin would look like next to that shade of blue. The next ones over were a simple striped pattern of pink and grey. Certainly not for him, but Mark’s bulge always was all that more mouth-watering when it was straining against heather grey.

Several pairs were placed in the basket and several eyes in the store began to cast questioning glances toward the adult man with brightly colored hair eagerly shopping in the intimates section. Jack paid them no mind. His ass would fill out the boy shorts nicely.

 

 

“Did you get the vitamins?”

“Mhmm. I’m going to go get changed, I’ll be upstairs.”

Mark’s mouth opened to ask what Jack was going to get changed into at such a late hour but he was gone in a blur up the steps. A scrap of black fabric fell from the plastic shopping bag in the younger man’s haste, which Mark was quick to scoop up and investigate. It was a simple black pair of women’s underwear, decorated with two large shamrocks on the ass cheeks and big blocky green letters.

_Irish You Were Here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puns. I've still got them.
> 
> So, not dead! Nor will I ever abandon my writing. Life and work double penetrated me once again. I'm a manager at both of my jobs, and I work almost every day of the week. Some craziness has went down in the past month and I've been working 12-14 hour shifts. Which means go to work, shove something edible in my face, then sleep and repeat. Things are starting to work out a bit more in my favor these days though, and I am going to get back on track with this site. I won't be able to update every two or three days like I was, but once a week is definitely doable. After all, who would be your resident friendly neighborhood kinky queer kid otherwise?
> 
> Speaking of, I promise some smut and substance in the next chapter.


	10. Leather

Leather against a bare chest was definitely not the same feeling as your legs against a leather chair in the summer.

He’d told himself that the feelings would be similar until Mark had actually laced him into the thing. It certainly wasn’t unpleasant. It cupped around where a woman’s breasts would normally be, which he had to admit really did define his pecs nicely. What was it called? Underbust? Whatever it was, he looked fucking hot in it. And despite his initial surprise at how it felt against his skin, he wasn’t complaining. He almost lamented the lack of matching panties. They weren’t allowed though, they rarely ever were. The last time he’d been caught wearing underwear the bruises had stayed on his hips for two weeks before starting to fade.

Speaking of his bare ass, the feeling of Mark’s hand on it brought him back to the situation at present. There was a lot spoken by that singular touch. He assumed the proper position without a word being spoken. On his knees, legs spread, arms crossed behind his back. It wasn’t his first time performing this dance.

“Such an obedient boy. You’ve been studying, you know what I expect of you.”

If Mark had been naked, he’d have to have his tongue out. Not tonight. Mark was wearing his fitted jeans and the blue button down. It was what was on the older man’s feet that had him already leaking onto the hardwood though.

The leather of Mark’s boots was weathered, but not battered. They were still as intimidating as the first day they’d been pulled out of the box. He knew their touch well.

“Ethan…crawl to me.”

Ethan’s position changed quickly to all fours, slowly making his way to where Mark stood. His head bowed to touch the floor, ass in the air and his back a perfect pale slope. The light coming in from the window made it practically glow, lighting up every freckle. He knew his positions like the back of his hand.

“You love these, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lick my boot, Ethan.”

There was never any hesitation, not even the first time he’d done this. He once made the mistake of making eye contact with Mark while his tongue ran across the leather. A week of chastity had set him straight. His eyes were to remain on the boots as he worshipped them. His tongue lavished every inch of them that he could reach. The position the action left him made the leather of the corset constrict tightly against him. He hoped it would leave marks.

He knew when to stop, and resumed his previous position once he was finished. The boot then met the back of his neck, applying enough pressure to make Ethan let out a choked gasp. Mark could break his neck right now if he wanted to. Ethan’s cock was practically weeping at the thought.

“What is this right now, Ethan?”

“My place, sir.”

“And?”

“Where I belong, sir.”

“That’s right. You belong right here, under my boot, where I can break any fragile little bit of you that I want.”

Ethan whimpered. Tears were forming at the corners of his eyes; his cock felt ready to burst.

The weight of Mark’s boot was removed from his neck, moving between his legs to nudge at the straining erection hanging there. Ethan couldn’t help but rub back against him. His whole body quivered at the feeling.

“You haven’t broken any rules lately.”

“No, sir.”

“As a matter of fact, you’ve been the perfect picture of servitude lately.”

Two days beforehand, he’d been waiting at the door when Mark came home, naked and in the submissive position. Not long before that, he’d ran a bath and washed Mark from head to toe. These moments, the recognition for his submission, they make everything worthwhile.

“Yes, sir.”

Another nudge. Another eager noise from Ethan.

“You may ride my boot.”

“May I cum, sir?”

Mark grinned at that. Asking for permission was never something he had to instill in Ethan. Submission was natural in him.

“Yes, you may cum.”

Ethan’s eyes light up. He can never fully hide his childish excitement, but Mark adored it so much he’s never tried to curb it.

Mark set his boot back down on the floor, and Ethan was quick to straddle it. His hips moved practically on their own, he was so yearning. The leather was still warm from his tongue, and better than any soft pillow he’d every ground his hips down into. Drool ran down the corner of his mouth as he humped against Mark’s foot, panting like a dog. He felt like one, driven purely by his animalistic need to feel pleasure, to push himself over the edge. Mark might as well slap a collar and leash on him.

Maybe another time.

The leather of the corset suctioned itself to him, slick with the sweat rolling down his back and chest. Ethan made a mental note to go tighter on the laces next time. He’d much rather have Mark’s hand restricting his air flow, but he knew better than to beg for it. He would get it when he earned it.

A strangled mix of crying and gasping for air escaped Ethan’s throat as he finally spurted across the warm brown leather. It left him breathless, disoriented, a crying and shaking mess.

Mark leaned down, kissing both of Ethan’s cheeks as the tears flowed freely.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not over thinking about Ethan in a corset. And now neither are you.  
> You also might have noticed I removed the fourteen chapter cap for this series. Due to the suggestion from a lovely reader and my own thoughts bubbling around my head, I will for now be keeping this story open until I feel I have exhausted every kink I am willing to write about in this series.


	11. Pretty

Mark felt...well, somewhere between crazy turned on and slightly ridiculous.  
  
He rubbed the fabric of the dress between two fingers. He wasn't too knowledgeable when came to fabrics, but he thought it was either silk or satin. It could be fucking chiffon for all he knew, but no matter what it was really sexy. The dress hit mid-thigh, was the deep red color of expensive wine, and had a dangerously low neckline. It hugged Mark’s body tightly, clinging to his legs and making his hips sway when he walked. Jack had called it a bandage dress.

He glanced at the clock in the bathroom. Fuck, if he stood there staring at himself any longer, Jack was going to be pissed. He opened the door and walked into the living room, careful not to trip in his…kitten heels? He was going to have to start taking notes.  
  
There Jack sat, lounging in an arm chair, gently swirling a glass of wine in his hand. It looked a little too much like a scene out of a steamy big screen romance, but it still made Mark’s dick twitch.  
  
"There's my pretty girl..."  
  
Jack set the glass of wine aside and beckoned Mark with a finger. He didn't hesitate, settling himself on his boyfriend’s lap. Jack has gone the more casual route; his skinny knees were poking out of the holes in his jeans, and the cactus patterned button up he was wearing didn’t exactly scream “dominant,” but the firm grip he had around Mark’s waist spoke every word that his clothing did not.  
  
Jack smiled and cupped Mark’s chin. Not a hint of stubble was to be found, as per Jack’s instructions. A full face of makeup had been a bit too hard to Mark to figure out how to blend together properly. Several makeup tutorials later, though, and his eyes were smoked out to perfection and his lips could put any professional pout to shame.

"You're so sexy. I wonder, does the sexy face have a sexy set of tits to match?"  
  
Jack's hand slipped inside the front of the dress, fingers toying with Mark's right nipple. Mark wanted to grunt, moan, do anything. Instead he bit his lip hard enough to tear skin. He’d tried so hard in the bathroom to perfect less masculine sounds, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. Jack's rules had to be followed.  
  
_Tonight, you're my bitch. One hint of masculinity, and it stops.  
_  
And so he bit his lip harder as Jack continued circling his nipples, smirking.  
  
"A very sexy set of tits," Jack leaned in close to his ear, "Wonder if there's a pretty pussy to go along with them."  
  
Mark left Jack’s lap so quickly he almost tripped over himself, bending over the coffee table like the submissive slut that he was. The dress was short enough that it exposed his ass without needing pushed up any further.  
  
"Look at you, you goddamn whore. Practically begging for it aren't you?"  
  
One wouldn’t expect there to be such power in a smack that came from Jack’s lanky arms. On the contrary, the impact made Mark let out a whine that was high pitched enough that he wasn’t risking breaking the rules.  
  
"Spread your legs, show me your tight little cunt."  
  
Mark’s legs were already practically melting into the floor as he spread them wide as they’d go. Jack already had his cock in his hand by the time he rubbed up against Mark from behind. There’s no prep, no warning before he’s pushing into Mark’s eager hole. He’s never been one for gentle touches, and if the copious amounts of cum stains they’ve had to clean off the sheets has been any evidence since they started having sex, Mark didn’t seem to mind at all.  
  
Jack simply sat there for a few moments, like he always did, enjoying the feeling of throbbing inside of his boyfriend's ass. He ran a hand along the dress fabric, grabbing a handful as he remembered the day they bought it.  
  
_"Have a look at this."_  
  
_Mark turned as they walked through the aisles of a department store. Jack was running his fingers along the shiny fabric of a dark red dress._

 _"It's a nice color, I guess. C'mon, let's go get your dress shirts."_  
  
_"I want you to wear it."_

 _"Your dress shirts? They won't fit me, you're skinnier th-…"_  
  
_"This dress. I want to see you in this dress."_  
  
_Mark's cheeks went rosy, his mind racing with thoughts of what may or may not be going through Jack's head. Mark had, over the course of their relationship, had more toys in him than he could count, been tied up, spanked, called "whore" so many times it’d become a compliment. But a dress?_  
  
_"I don't know..."_  
  
_Before he could protest further Jack was leaning in close to him, voice barely above a whisper._  
  
_"Whose bitch are you?"_  
  
_"Yours..."_  
  
_"And who’s going to lock your cock up for a week if you don’t do as I say?"_  
  
_"You."_

 _“Hmm…you look like a size ten.”_  
  
Mark’s knuckles had gone white from him gripping the table, panting as femininely as he could while Jack pounded into him. The dress didn’t breathe in the slightest, and sweat was rolling down his cheeks and neck. Was the makeup waterproof?

Jack could tell his thoughts were wandering, which he remedied by abandoning the fabric of the dress for a handful of Mark’s hair and shoving Mark’s face against the glass of the coffee table. The point was made, and all Mark could focus on was the thick cock slamming his ass straight to heaven.

“Letting your mind wander? Is my cock not good enough for you?”

“N-no! I mean, I…”

A harsh tug of his hair brought his neck back so far he could almost see Jack behind him. Jack’s other hand, which had been on Mark’s hips, moved to circle his neck, squeezing until Mark began gasping.

“Wrong answer, bitch. I think I ought to just tie you wide open outside, let everybody have a turn for the day since you’re so eager for more.”

“P-please no! A-all I need is you, I love your cock!”

He was seeing stars, head swimming with the need for air and the need to cum. Jack released the grip on his hair, instead reaching down to stroke Mark in time with every thrust.

Drool was running in a thick river down the side of Mark’s chin, his mind soaring among the stars. There was nothing around him, just the hand on his throat, the strokes on his dick, and the relentless pounding coming at him from behind. Jack grinned, knowing what was next.

Jack’s hand squeezed as hard as he could, hard enough to bring Mark to blacking out before releasing his throat and his erection at the same time. Mark let out a choked gasp, oxygen rushing back to his head and thick globs of his release shooting across the carpet. He was still gulping in as much air as he could get when Jack pulled out of him, turning him over and splashing his own cum across Mark’s face and chest.

The dress and Mark’s makeup were both a wreck. He looked exactly like the whore that Jack loved turning him into. The abandoned glass of wine was offered to Mark, who downed it quickly before running a hand over his face. He grimaced at the mess, wiping his hand on the dress.

“So…dinner?”

“Already in the oven. But get a shower first, you’re a fucking mess.”

“Aren’t you sweet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this as a completely different pairing about six years ago and am just now finishing it, holy shit.


	12. Grope

The first time it had happened to him had been as a teenager.

Ethan had been standing in a crowded line at the movies with friends. The lobby reminded him of an overly packed aquarium. Everyone had a place to be, but with no room for it. He’d already nearly dropped his phone twice and if he dropped the overpriced snacks he was about to pay for, he’d have someone’s head. Brian was doing well enough at keeping him distracted with talk about how he was pretty sure that if you stuck around, there was an after credits scene that tied all the plot threads together perfectly. That’s when it happened.

Someone’s hand grabbed his dick.

The least manly of squeaks left his lips and yes, he did drop one of those overpriced snacks. Fish in shades of red dye #40 went flying. Everyone gave him naught but a moment of strange looks before going back to the conversation at hand. He tuned them out though, even as their small group made their way into the appropriate theater. He couldn’t care less about the pre-movie trivia flashing across the screen.

Someone had really grabbed him…there. He hadn’t even been touched there by a hand that wasn’t his own yet. He couldn’t really talk about it to his friends either. Brian would be concerned, certainly, but everyone else would undoubtedly make fun of him for complaining about "free action" and switch the topic. He really needed better friends.

Ethan’s mind tried its best to settle on the film once it started, finding success once the plot got rolling. When things did slow down from time to time, though, his mind did wander back.

The problem did not lie in the fact that he’d been touched.

He was trying to come to terms with that fact that he’d enjoyed it.

No, he told himself, it wasn’t the natural animal need to get off, or even his teenage male brain telling him to go find that hand and have it wank him to bliss.

That hand could have belonged to anybody. One of the chatty girls beside them, the man passing by in search of his family, the bored usher weaving through the masses.

The anonymity of that hand’s owner is what had him so worked up, and shifting his legs uncomfortably in the darkness.

It was after midnight, once everyone had gone their separate ways and Ethan found himself comfortable in his bed, that he’d closed his eyes and pretended his hand was anybody’s but his own.

 

 

The second time it happened was years later. Ethan was twenty, on public transport, sandwiched amongst enough people to make him develop claustrophobia.

By now, this should have been old hat. Living in the city was a choice nobody had forced him to make, and city buses were part of that reality. Nobody really liked them, he supposed, and so he conceded that there were worse parts of life. Like being the person who had to clean that bus at the end of the day. Gross.

Despite it being a less than ideal place to spend time, Ethan often found himself daydreaming pleasantly during his rides. Each person was in their own world, after all. Why couldn’t his be filled beautiful ideas and wandering thoughts that he would probably never finish?

It was during one of those thoughts that he felt the squeeze between his legs.

No sound came out this time. Nothing but the initial cold shock that washed over him was an indication that something had happened. This time, he would play it cool. This time he’d find the source of the hand. There were only so many people within reach of him. He could narrow it down, right? Had that grip been masculine or feminine? Was that hand really sneaking past his waistband? Stroking his slit, caressing the soft patch of hair?

Despite his readiness to deduct whom his groper had been, the universe had other plans. The bus made the stop that came before his own and two of the three people surrounding him had left.

Shit.

Ethan craned his neck as best he could to get a look at them. The first was a petite woman who was far too deep into whatever conversation she was having on the other end of the phone. Her hands matched her stature. He would have felt the elegantly pointed manicure she was sporting.

The second…well, his journey ended there.

Because the man with blue-green hair who had also departed met Ethan’s gaze through the window and winked at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this several weeks ago; I was simply too lazy to fix Jack's hair color.
> 
> I didn't mean to over a full month without posting. Retail will do that to you. 
> 
> I hope y'all like this one, it's actually my least favorite of the chapters I've written for this series.


	13. Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey there. If you want, read the end note to figure out where the hell I've been.

Dark was a different kind of sadist. He appreciated the beauty not only in Mark’s suffering, but in the raw emotion that came to the surface when he had his doppelganger at his mercy. It was a pleasure unlike any other.

This time was different. Mark had never cried during sex, let alone in front of Dark at all. He’d been sailing through the seas of subspace for hours now and had been covered in plenty of other bodily fluids in his time, but tears was a new one for him.

It took quite a lot for Dark to call himself curious about something. He was eternal, after all. Host after host had come and gone, multiple faces through countless millennia. Birth and death were nothing to him. Miracles were simply a lucky aligning of the cosmos; a thing which he was almost certain he’d personally witnessed, at least once. And yet somehow watching this pathetic amalgamation of flesh and water writhe on the floor in front of him was actually making questions swim in his head.

Mark was far too gone to even register that Dark was still in the room. In the back of his mind he could still feel the ropes that careful fingers had looped around him quite a while ago rubbing against his skin. He’d been humping uselessly at the air until recently, cock bouncing and searching for anything that would relieve the ache. Dark had taken his time once he learned what a delight edging was. Time meant nothing to him anymore. A flush of red covered Mark’s body, both from the ropes rubbing and the effort of his long abandoned struggle.

Dark knelt down in front of the younger man, coming nearly face to face with him. The glaze in Mark’s eyes was so thick they almost looked like marble. Sweat and drool were pooled around his mouth, the scent of both curling up into Dark’s sensitive nostrils. There it was as well, thick trails of salty tears smeared all over Mark’s cheeks.

“Look at you. What a goddamn mess you are.”

He ran his cold fingers over Mark’s cheek. He licked them clean, savoring the salt.

“Can you even hear me? Have you ever been this pathetic before? Stripped down to nothing. It’s beautiful.”

He had to have another taste. Another swipe, and his tongue danced over his fingertips. That and the smell of Mark’s pure, raw need filling his head made his brain swim. Dark closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

“I won’t lie, I haven’t had a face this pretty in a long time. I like breaking it.”

When he opened his eyes again Mark had managed to get himself enough friction to find release. It had half dribbled, half shot out of him, leaving a few haphazard strands across his stomach. He was taking frenzied breaths now, trying to come back down as gently as his brain would let him. Dark clucked his tongue, petting Mark’s hair like a child as the grip of subspace subsided. More tears flowed, in steady streams this time, mixed with genuine sobs that were pulled achingly from deep in his chest.

“One day, I’ll shatter you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, oh man, where do I start? This series never died, or was on hiatus, or what have you. A lot has been going on in my personal life. I got swapped roles at both my jobs, me and my girlfriend both seem to have a constantly full plate, and I could honestly hit the character limit breaking down everything that's been sucker punching me in the face. I can't guarantee I'll be getting back on a steady update schedule again anytime soon. However! Don't unsubscribe or swap tabs just yet. Until that page says this series is complete, do not consider it dead. I will continue to update this, however infrequently. Thankfully, it won't be several months again. More like a couple of weeks or so. I might update twice in one week, might go two and a half weeks before I update again after that. I am truly thankful for whoever decides to stick it out with me or who has been patient enough to still be here from the start. I love this series, and I cannot wait to see where else it ends up and what you all have to say about it. So thank you, from the bitty bottom to the tippy top of my heart, thank you.


	14. Knife

He’d seen the boy every day on his walk home, always standing in the same spot. The boy looked like a proper hood with his torn jeans and the pack of cigarettes always peeking out of a pocket. That’s not what fascinated Him though. The boy was always toying with a knife; it flashed bright white in the dying sun of the day like a shiny new coin. It was never brandished at anybody. The boy simply ran his fingers along the sharp edges and admired the polished handle.

He'd caught the name "Sean" engraved on the handle while staring for too long one day. He’d never interacted with the boy before.

Fate decided to fix that, however.

He had always been terrible with bubble gum, potential bubbles always falling flat or popping far too soon. Frustrated with Himself, He’d blown extra hard as He’d rounded the corner and the wad of gum went flying and landed square in the chest of the mysterious boy.

It started like the scene of a horribly contrived meet-cute, with the boy's eyes looking back and forth between Him and the gum while searching for something to say. He giggled first, though, and the boy's gaze narrowed at Him.

“Just what’s so damn hilarious?”

“It’s just so…silly! You stand here every day looking so tough and here you are with bright pink bubblegum stuck to you!”

The previously sheathed knife was at His cheek in a flash.

“Hell is your name?”

He merely cocked His head in the opposite direction.

Not the reaction the boy expected.

“Ethan.”

“You like playing with knives, Ethan?”

Ethan turned his head to face the blade. Surprising the boy, Ethan ran his cheek along it, blinking curiously as blood bubbled up in the shallow cut.

“I never have. Can you teach me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care that it's trope fodder, I have a soft spot for innocent Ethan.


	15. Wrapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little bit more of a niche. Mummification isn't a kink I saw a lot of on here, and what I did see was mostly of a different flavor than this one. I'm curious what y'all will think of this.

Getting a boner during a horror movie wasn’t unheard of. There was some science bullshit somewhere that said something about people getting turned on by the adrenaline rush they got during scary films. It wasn’t the scares that gave Ethan the tent in his pants, though. The movie itself wasn’t even worthy of the tag “scary.” “Suspenseful”, maybe. “Cheesy,” at best.  They were watching the rugged hero get dragged down a hallway by what was meant to be some B-movie version of ancient priests who needed to sacrifice someone to bring back their dead king.

To Ethan’s surprise, he began feeling the blood rush between his legs when they pinned the protagonist down and began wrapping him up in bandages, turning him into a mummy.

His mind had taken him to some pretty interesting parts of the internet in his time, but hardcore bondage wasn’t somewhere he’d ever ventured. There was nothing stopping him of course, aside from his own trepidation. There was no porn police, no hidden camera to capture his shame. It had always seemed to him to be one of those things that once you start, you can’t stop. Jack had tied him up on several occasions, sure, and there was more than one interesting (and expensive) toy in the plastic container they kept under their bed. But something like getting wrapped up from damn near head to toe was just…something.

An intense something.

“Ethan? Hey, if you’re not feeling this, we can find something else. It only cost a couple bucks to rent.”

Jack’s hand shook him lightly back down from the cloudy land of kinks and bullshit. His eyes focused back on the screen to see the scene had long since passed. The hero was now punching his way through henchmen as the temple around them crumbled. Shirtless brawling in action movies always did make shit movies a little better.

“Nahh, it’s fine. Probably only about fifteen minutes left anyway. “

Fifteen more minutes of shirtless action and a shower later and the couple was settled in bed. Jack, tired from a day spent nearly entirely recording, went almost immediately to sleep. Ethan’s head was still too busy swimming with unanswered questions.

What did this mean? There were some people into shit like being buried alive, or suffocated. Neither of those thoughts got him going.

The thought of being immobile though, at Jacks’ total mercy, unable to get away no matter how hard he struggled…

Fuck.

 

 

 

Three breakfasts later and Jack was starting to get concerned. He and Ethan were creatures of habit, to be sure. Silence had never been part of it though. Ethan was spending more time pushing pieces of omelet around his plate than he did talking to his own boyfriend. Day three was the clincher for Jack. He’d gone out of his way to cook Ethan’s favorite breakfast, squeezed the grapefruit juice himself, and even picked herbs out of their window box to season things with. Ethan had taken two bites, a half-hearted sip, and was already getting up from the table when Jack stopped him with a wave of the spatula in his hand.

“What the hell have I done? You’ve said a grand total of about twenty words to me since Tuesday.”

Ethan lowered himself back into his chair. Had he really been that distant?

“You better start talking, kid, or you’re getting the wide end of this spatula in a place it wouldn’t normally fit.”

“I…Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’ve been…lost. Lost in thought, anyway.”

Jack joined him at the table. “This may come as shocking news to you, but intimate partners tend to talk to one another whenever something is bothering them.”

“It’s…ugh, it’s fucking stupid. I don’t want to weird you out.”

Jack snorted and tossed the spatula into the sink. “We have dildos shaped like horse cocks. I don’t think weird is on the table for us.”

“Trust me, it’s weird. Like…specific parts of the internet weird.”

The tension had eased, somewhat. Ethan’s fork went back to his breakfast. Had he been avoiding food too? He was starving now that Jack had made a point of mentioning it.

“Now I’m curious. Piss? Fisting? I could probably fist you, we’ll just have to work at it.”

“No, no. Are you gonna really make me say it?”

“That is my intention, yes.”

Well, at least his breakfast was finished. So if Jack broke up with him it would at least be with a full stomach.

“That movie we watched the other night, the crappy Indiana Jones rip off? There may have been a scene that gave me some…feelings.”

Jack’s face softened at that. “Yeah, that was total beefcake fanservice, I know. Are you feeling guilty because you got a stiffy from some shirtless actor?”

Ethan groaned. “I wish. Okay. Okay. So when they were…wrapping him up. Like a mummy, I guess.”

“And that got you going?”

Swallowing hard, Ethan nodded before covering his face with his hands.

“I know it’s fucking weird, please just tell me I’m weird so we can go back to our normal sex life.”

Jack remained silent long enough for Ethan to peek out between his fingers. The older man was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His other hand was clutching his half-finished glass of grapefruit juice.

“….some feedback would be appreciated.”

“I mean…I’m not hating it.”

“Not…hating it.”

“Not hating it. I’d have to look into it a little more, see what it entails. Safety precautions and whatnot.”

Hands previously used to cover embarrassment flopped down into Ethan’s lap. Was this a real thing? Jack might do this for him. Holy shit.

His appetite had returned, at least. Ethan went back for a second helping of home fries.

“So what are you recording today?”

 

 

 

Their routine went back to normal after that. Four days of recording, sex, and more low budget movies before Jack entered the house with a few plastic bags dangling from his wrist that he waved in Ethan’s direction.

“On a scale of feeling lazy to feeling adventurous, how ready are you to explore your kink right now?”

Had Ethan’s hands been holding onto the glass bottle he’d just set on the coffee table it would have been dropped to the floor. Their carpet remained free of alcohol stains but his jaw was quick to hit the floor in its place.

“You went on a shopping trip, I see.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“…yes?”

A grin that could only be described as wolfish lit up Jack’s features as he ascended the steps to their bedroom. Ethan’s feet moved before the rest of him did. This was going to happen. He didn’t even know if he was going to like it. What if it had just been the stupid hunky actor and not the tight, constricting wrappings?

His search history said otherwise.

When he reached the bedroom Jack was already unpacking his purchases. Their Hitachi wand was at his side, already plugged in and charging. Ethan sat on the bed as Jack ripped open the packaging to what looked like colorful ace bandaging.

“That’s very…bright.”

“It’s vet wrap. It doesn’t stick to anything but itself. Kind of like that shitty bondage tape, but this is more breathable and easier to get you out of if you freak out.”

Ethan’s fingers curled around one of the rolls. It was almost sticky, but in the way almost-dry nail polish was kind of sticky. Jack tossed one at his head.

“So how far do you want this to go? I mean…safety wise, I don’t know if I’m comfortable covering your head since this is a first time thing. I love you, but “Jacksepticeye suffocates lover and fellow creator in erotic mishap” just isn’t a headline I ever want to see.”

Ethan scoffed. Off went his hoodie as he began undressing. “Just lover? I don’t even get a channel name drop in death? Geez.”

“I mean, at least you’ll get more views. People always flock to content after a tragedy involving the creator. I’d just be the subject of clickbait articles for years to come.”

Off went Ethan’s socks, his underwear, his shirt. Jack was still fully clothed, idly tossing one of the colorful rolls between his hands.

“It does open up the opportunity for you to redeem yourself on a wide variety of American talk shows. They love a sob story. You could even fall into a spiral and end up on a celebrity rehab show. Oh, I can always haunt you, America loves a paranormal investigation…”

“Shut up and answer the question.”

Ethan chewed his lip. Had he been stalling? Maybe a little. “Well. Shoulders sounds good, I guess? I don’t want to be able to move. But I do want to be able to see, and breathing is something I am quite fond of.”

Jack nodded at that, positioning Ethan’s legs over his lap. He began to unravel one of the rolls.

“I watched a few different videos to get an idea of how to do this right. We should start with your legs, then the torso. I figure you’d want to leave your dick out.”

Ethan nodded, giving a thumbs up. If he backed out now, he’d be too chicken to try it any other time.

Jack began at his ankles, making sure the wrapping was snug but not tight enough to hurt. It felt strange. It reminded him of what being trapped in fishing net might feel like, if it was thicker. He stopped a laugh before it escaped when he realized he almost looked like a mermaid. The wrapping process stopped just under where his semi-hard dick was resting against his thigh. Jack smoothed the edge down and gave his thigh a playful squeeze.

“How are you feeling? Give it a wiggle.”

Ethan did indeed give it his best wiggle. Despite being looking thin and fragile, the vet wrap held tight. There would be no breaking it by struggling. He took the opportunity to poke Jack with his toes while they were still free.

“Not too shabby. I don’t feel like I’m going to have an anxiety attack or anything.”

“Want me to do the feet? Or are we going to be exploring some other fetishes today?”

“Put your dick anywhere near my feet and I will freak out. Keep going.”

Jack pinched his toes playfully before continuing the wrapping. Into the wrap went his feet, and he gave another experimental wiggle. There’s no denying he was really starting to look like a mummy now.

Jack ran a hand along Ethan’s captive legs. There was something appealing about his boyfriend unable to get away from him. Even with his arms still free, Ethan would have to helplessly crawl across the floor to escape. The image of that did things to him he would have to explore later.

“Are you ready for the top half?”

“Do your worst.”

“Arms behind your back.”

Ethan obeyed, keeping his palms flat against his ass. Jack began at his waist with a new roll. He’d half expected Jack to choose bright blue, but he kind of liked the red they’d gone with. The higher Jack went, the harder his dick got. His arms were thoroughly trapped by the time the wrappings were halfway up his chest. The only way he’d get away now would be to roll across the floor. He gave another wiggle test. He was stuck fast. Jack took a break for a moment to tweak one of Ethan’s nipples while it was still exposed.

“I take it you’re still doing okay.”

“…pretty okay yeah.”

“Do you need a break?”

“No, keep going.”

All that was left now was Ethan’s upper torso. There were some people, according to the videos, who went far more extreme than what he and Jack were up to. Using things like tape and pantyhose always ended up with people covered head to toe, and he just couldn’t bring himself to go completely under. There was a serious lack of men in this predicament as well. The ones he could find were usually the background of further fetishes. He and Jack were adventurous, but cock and ball torture wasn’t quite up their alley.

Jack smoothed the final edge down. Ethan took a deep breath and looked down at himself. His fully hard dick was peeking out like a flagpole amongst the wrappings. A quick glance in the mirror on their closet door gave him a good look at himself. He felt…pretty. Like a wrapped package, dressed up for Jack to play with.

One of Jack’s hands ran down his smooth, wrapped chest while the other went for the wand at his side.

“You’ve done so well, baby. Think you’re up for some more?”

Sweat was starting to make a few strands of hair stick to Ethan’s face. He hadn’t thought about the fact that being wrapped up like that, plus his obvious arousal, meant things were going to get hot. Trying to blow them away from his face was a fruitless effort. Jack saw his struggle and brushed the hair away before turning the wand on and placing it just under Ethan’s balls.

“S-shit, yeah…”

He was used to being a bit of a thrasher when it came to the wand. The sensations were crazy intense. Usually his fingers ended up grabbing the sheets tightly or tangled in his own hair. The only thing he was able to do was dig his nails into his ass and buck up against the toy, desperate for as much friction as possible. Jack grinned, slowly moving the toy up and down Ethan’s length.

“Poor baby boy can’t do anything, can he? You’re totally at my mercy. Fuck, I could turn this off right now and just leave you here. Or I could shut you up with a gag and just wank off on you.”

“Jack no! P-please! I need…fuck….”

Ethan’s whole body was shaking. Sweat was running down his neck now, and his cheeks were flushed. How the fuck was he supposed to last like this?

“Babe, please, fuck! “

“Please what?”

“Tease me, fuck me, anything!”

Jack actually had to ponder for a moment at that one. What did he want to do? Just jerking Ethan off felt like it would be anticlimactic, what with all the build up to getting him into this predicament in the first place. Edging him did sound very tempting, but Jack’s own cock was starting to press a little too urgently against the prison he called pants.

He swung one of his long legs over Ethan, straddling the younger man so that the denim of his jeans rubbed up against Ethan’s erection. “Fuck you? I don’t know about that. But I think you do deserve a little something.”

Jack continued grinding his own dick against Ethan’s through the fabric of his pants and _holy shit fuck_. Ethan whined, doing what he could to hump up against his boyfriend.

He wanted out.  
He wanted the wraps to be tighter.  
He wanted to grab Jack’s hair and kiss him till their lips bled.  
He wanted…

“Fuck Jack, fuck I…fuck!”

Jack grinned as Ethan’s release shot across the front of his shirt. It never bothered him, getting cum on his clothes. Seeing the look on Ethan’s face after being drained was worth every stain he washed out.

And drained he was. Ethan went limp on the bed, everything suddenly rushing in on him at once. He almost wished he hadn’t cum so fast. Everything was too hot, too tight, too much.

“Jack, lemme out, I-I want out now.”

“I’ve got you, kid, hang on.”

During his kinky shopping trip Jack had the foresight to get a pair of safety shears. These he grabbed from one of the abandoned shopping bags before scooting up the bed and pulling Ethan into his lap. The vet wrap could have been easily unwrapped carefully and put away for another day, but Ethan’s heavy breathing and the fear of overheating the younger man made the shears an obvious choice. He started where Ethan’s hands were trapped against his ass and worked his way up, freeing the upper half of Ethan’s body first.

“Take it easy okay? Stretch your arms.”

Ethan did just that. His whole chest had a thin layer of sweat on it and was just as flushed as his cheeks. A nagging little voice in the back of his head had been telling him he’d feel ridiculous. It had been nothing like he imagined. It was so, so much better.

A minute or so later and his lower half was free as well. Jack tossed the pile of red to the side of the bed before pulling Ethan against him, kissing his forehead. “You need anything? Water, blanket?”

“No. Just…your arms are nice. Give me a minute to recover.”

“You don’t need to pay me back. Trust me, either I’ve pissed myself or we’ve got some serious laundry to do today.”

Ethan would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little thankful. The last drops of his energy were going into keeping his tired eyes open and his arms curled around Jack’s middle.

“I mean, hey, clearly this is a kink shame free zone. Piss your pants all you want.”

“Listen here, King Tut…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Down the kink rabbit hole we go...


End file.
